Stoppering Death
by sharpie.fiend
Summary: After witnessing a freak accident, a young Hermione takes it upon herself to learn first aid.
1. Chapter 1

One evening in March, when all the holiday decorations had long been put away, when the snow had lost its novelty, and winter seemed to stretch bleakly into interminability, the Grangers were eating dinner together. They always ate dinner together, sitting around the kitchen table, watching the news. They watched the five o'clock local news while one of the Dr.s Granger cooked and Hermione set the table. They watched the world news at five thirty, sometimes arguing with the anchor between bites of potatoes or passing the pepper, discussing events during commercials. They watched the six o'clock local news while Hermione put the dishes in the dishwasher and the Dr.s Granger relaxed.

Once, Hermione read an article that claimed the demise of the family meal (worse, families that ate meals together but paid attention to the television) was the cause for the decline in morals and family values in the country. She indignantly wondered how she was supposed to watch the news otherwise, since her bedtime was before ten o'clock.

This evening in March, Hermione neatly cut her pork tenderloin while her parents discussed the recent IRA murders and wondered whether it would be worth investing in a computer for their dental practice. When the commercials ended, they turned their attention back to the melodic voice of the anchorman. "Today in sports, a freak accident nearly resulted in tragedy."A brief view of a map of the United States panned into New York before showing a clip of a ice hockey players skating in toward the goal.

"During a scramble in front of the net, Buffalo Sabres goalie Clint Malarchuk caught a skate in the throat..." Players tangled near the net and crashed past the goalie, colliding with the boards.

"...severing his carotid artery."Blood pooled on the ice. On his knees, the goalie threw off his helmet, trying to hold his throat with one hand. A jet of blood was shooting through his fingers onto the ice. The shot, so close before, zoomed out.

"Sabres' trainer, former Army medic and Vietnam veteran Jim Pizzutelli rushed across the ice, and saved Malarchuk's life by physically holding the artery shut."A plain clothesed man slid across the ice, putting his hand inside the goalie's throat. Hermione's ears buzzed. Then together, the men stood and walked off the rink.

"Hours of surgury and more than 300 stitches later, Malarchuk is expected to make a full recovery." The anchorman was replaced with a paramedic, whose broad American accent was nearly unintelligible, saying, "Oh he's incredibly lucky, definitely. But in the ambulance he kept asking if we'd be able to get him back on the ice by the third period." The paramedic laughed and shook his head. The camera then cut back to the anchorman, who blythely launched into the next story.

Hermione's ears were still ringing.

"Mm, remember Johnny Alworth's extraction?" Hermione's mother asked the other Dr. Granger, who grunted, "Had the hardest time of my life stopping that bleeding. Of course I remember."

Hermione asked through cold lips, "So that trainer literally...stuck his hands in that goalie's throat?"

Her mother nodded, forking a bite of green beans into her mouth. "Usually, pressure is enough to stop the bleeding, other times it's appropriate to use a tourniquet. But in this case, you saw how the blood was just spurting out of his hands—he would have bled out first—and there's no where to tourniquet a neck. The femoral artery, down on the inside of the thigh, is another such place. That trainer pinched the artery together. How long would he have had, John...two minutes?"

"I'd say less than a minute."

"Ha-ave you encountered this before, Mum?"

"Nothing of that scale personally, but it's just one more thing they teach you how to handle in med school."

"That Johnny Alworth was bad enough."

Nine year old Hermione Granger shook her light head and wished she'd one day be as calm and collected as her mother. Just then, the memory of goalie's blood spraying onto the ice made her head spin. Hermione put her fork down. Well. One way to face your fears is to confront them. "Mum, do you still have your med school textbooks?"


	2. Misconceptions and Misdirections

Much to Hermione's irritation, their first Potions lesson quickly devolved into chaos. After Neville and Seamus left (the latter taking great care to avoid Neville's botched-potion-covered robes) Professor Snape slashed his wand at the mess. The rest of the students gingerly climbed off their stools as the floor cleared, while the professor lambasted Harry. Hermione was caught between feeling scandalized that Harry Potter was losing Gryffindor more points and indignant (an entirely new feeling to be directed at a teacher) that Professor Snape was blaming Harry for Neville's mistake. With another angry stab of his wand, the professor vanished the spilled potion, left over ingredients, ruined book, and remnants of Seamus' cauldron.

Seeing everyone staring up at him, Snape snapped, "Are your potions contaminated? Get on with it!" Students scrambled back to work.

At the end of the hour, Hermione was pleased to bursting that her boil-removing potion appeared exactly as the book said it should. When she delivered her properly labeled flagon, beaming, to his desk, the professor leveled her with a look of such haughty disdain that she flinched. She hurried back to clean up her desk, fervently interested in learning whatever cleaning spell the professor used earlier. When the class was dismissed, Hermione hung back. After the noise and rush left with the crowd, she approached his desk for the second time.

He was busy writing—slashing his quill across the page really, determinedly ignoring her.

"Sir, I have a question."

He stopped with a small huff. "It's not enough that you have an answer for everything—now you have a question?" He drawled.

Determinedly notletting that deter her, she went on, "When you said 'put a stopper in death,' were you referring to death-in-a-bottle, meaning poison...or putting a stopper in death's coming, like plugging cracks in a dam?"

His black eyes blinked, and he brought up a pale finger to trace his upper lip. "Both," he said after a moment. "Now begone. Go pester someone else."

Hermione fled.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Late that Halloween, Hermione hugged her knees on her had lied to her teachers. Lied. That thought echoed around her numb brain. Why had she lied?

Hermione knew the professor was biased against Harry Potter. She didn't know why, but she knew it wasn't right. And there he'd been, glaring daggers at the boys who just saved her life...was that it? Was she trying to protect them? And why did she feel like she hadn't fooled Professor Snape? That made her nervous—what if he decided he wanted to dig for the truth? Why was it so important that he not know the truth? What had really happened wasn't anything harmful, nothing he couldn't know...just her being over-emotional and the boys...Why didn't she want the professor to know? Something wasn't right about his hatred of Harry.

She...didn't trust him.

That went against her entire constitution. Trust him! _He's a teacher!_ her brain wailed.

Observe him. Learn more. Be objective.

Over the course of the next few months, it was the boys' flagrant and repeated disregard for this third self-imposed rule that set her teeth on edge. But still...it was wonderful to finally have friends.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hermione rushed back through the cool flames, desperately worried about Harry...how could Harry stand against Snape? Alone? And Ron. Ron concussed! How did you treat the unconscious? Her running feet slapped loud on the floor. First off you weren't supposed to move them in case their spinal cord was damaged. Ron. _Ron_. There on the floor. Still unconscious, still lying limp and dragged, left where he was off the edge of the board. About to take the crows' flight across the board, she jerked to a stop.

What if the game starts again!

Knowing there was no other way, sickening at the thought of what she was risking, she toed one foot onto the board and...

...

...

Nothing happened.

Relief mingled with mania as she flew to Ron's side. His head wound was a mess of crusted blood, gluing hanks of his red hair to his chalk-white cheek. Putting an ear near his nose, keeping a close eye on his chest, Hermione breathed when she felt him breathe.

She transfigured a rock beneath him into a stretcher and levitated the board. Moving as quickly as she dared, she retraced their steps, conjuring a rope ladder, climbing with one hand and an elbow, Ron rising with her. She managed to sing a shakey lullaby, enough to make Fluffy drowsy, enough to get them out the door and slam it shut, enough to collide with the silver beard and scrawny chest of the Headmaster.

"Harry's gone after him." Dumbledore sighed, with more resigned rush than question, then swept past her and disappeared.

_Well!_ Hermione just stood there, wand leveled at the floating boy beside her. Up and over to the hospital wing, the mental strain of maintaining the levitation began to become pain.

When Madam Pomfrey bustled out with a cluck and a clatter and took Ron into her care, Hermione collapsed into a chair from agony and relief. There she sat, exhausted and dazed, when the Headmaster burst in with Harry unconscious in his arms. Hermione stuffed her fist in her mouth to contain her scream, trying to keep quiet and out of the way. Dumbledore laid Harry in a bed, and Madam Pomfrey swooped in. Dumbledore then rushed over to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of Floo Powder, and called, "Severus, we need a strong restorative and Balm of Gilead."

Hermione gasped, "B-but Professor—Snape! The Stone!"

The Headmaster spoke as he worked over Harry. "Your concerns are misplaced Miss Granger, Professor Snape only ever worked to protect the stone. Harry met with Quirrell…and Voldemort…in the bowels of the castle tonight."

Harry's unconscious body gave an almighty jerk. Madam Pomfrey jumped. Hermione almost fell out of her chair. At that moment, the Potions Master stepped into the ward with a billow of green flames and black robes. Two vials were held in his long pale hands, and he was at Harry's bedside in a flash. Tipping them slowly into Harry's slack mouth, he asked Dumbledore, "What happened to the boy?"

"When Harry received the Stone, Voldemort—" (Snape's left hand flinched, Hermione saw it) "who was incidentally sharing Quirrell's body—tried to forcibly take it. However, it appeared that the touch of one was inimical to the other. Quirrell is dead."

"Dead!" Exclaimed three voices.

"Dead," said Dumbledore (somewhat self-satisfactorily, Hermione thought). "As for the Stone, I do believe it's time for Nicholas and me to have a little chat." Looking down at Harry and confirming the boy's color was returning, the Headmaster swept out of the room.

"Why do I feel I know less now than I did before he explained?" Madam Pomfrey asked Professor Snape in a rather disgruntled tone.

"He only does this when he doesn't know the reasons himself." The professor responded, sounding thoroughly exasperated. He seemed to check one or two more points on Harry, and then he stood and nodded to Madam Pomfrey.

"Professor!" Hermione called, jerking to her feet. He stopped and lifted an eyebrow from across the room. "I—I'm sorry I doubted you.""Indeed." He seemed to appraise her coldly. "Well, let this be a lesson against your own infallibility." With a blaze of green flames, he was gone.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Over the years, Hermione learned that one of the perks of being pegged a know-it-all was that no one ever questioned one's motives when occupied with a book. It allowed Hermione the freedom to read anything without having to explain why she was reading. She had also long ago accepted the fact that Harry, being Harry Potter, came bundled with an appallingly bad case of bad luck. So, by the time Harry came back from detention with a bleeding, smarting hand, Hermione had already read through _The Household Handbook for Healing_,_ Magical Medicine_,_ Herbology Digest's Guide to Homeopathy_, and two textbooks normally assigned to Apprentice Healers. Essence of Murtlap was just what would treat that.


	3. Of Plans and Panic

Hermione walked back with Harry from the hospital wing. She still felt a bit quivery, even though it had been almost a week and Ron was already doing so much better...she was almost glad that Harry seemed as distracted as she felt. Right now her brain was loud enough. Then Lavender flounced up, and Hermione took a hasty detour. Laughing inside at the blatantly plaintive look Harry threw over his shoulder, Hermione set off without the idea came to her, she flinched away. But... needed information. Once she knew a few key things, she could go off and research and be dependent on no one, but... huffed at herself and directed her step down into the dungeons. She nearly had a very convincing excuse by the time she reached that heavy, loathsome door, but...this was about more than just her at this point, surely she could stand a few minutes of mortification. She slow silken "Enter." struck her 'd been so busy arguing with herself that she hadn't thought of what she was going to collect yourself off the Snape sat at his desk, not looking up from his writing. The Things In Jars looked down from the walls. She walked up to his desk but, not being offered one, did not take a seat."Miss Granger," he added a drawn out pause, finally looking up at her, "to what do I owe this displeasure?""I have a question, sir."He sat back and leaned on one elbow. "I surmised as much. Do sit down." She sat. He waved one hand languidly. "By all means proceed. It's not as if I have other demands on my time." He was the picture of unaffected nonchalance. "What can you tell me about Nagini's venom?" Professor Snape's posture did not change, but she could see him freeze. "More relevently, what can you tell me about the anti-venin used to treat Mr. Weasley?"He didn't answer immediately. "You're asking a potions-related question, for which I would direct you to Professor Slughorn—" The slightest sneer crossed her lips and Snape pounced on it. "Do I detect a bit of…disdain, Miss Granger? Tut tut, this will not do."She ducked her head and demurred, "Far be it from me to show anything but respect for a teacher—" her voice failed her."No, do continue. I wish to hear your reasons for such an uncharacteristic—or not—lack of deference for a professor." When she still hesitated, he baited, "Surely this isn't a display of pettiness over the fact that he is…less than impressed with your skills in the classroom? My my, that must be galling."At that her eye twitched. "No sir. I just happen to dislike nepots." Not as if nepotism is much better than holding such ridiculous Snape let out a short, sharp breath through his nose. Hermione quickly stared at her hands in her lap, eyes wide. Did he just...laugh?After a moment, the professor straightened in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. "Much."Hermione looked up in confusion. "Pardon?"He smirked a little at her bemusement. "About Nagini's venom, and particularly the antivenin, I can tell you much."His smirk grew more pronounced as she waited expectantly. Then she closed her eyes, asking for patience, surely before asking, "Will you tell me what you know about Nagini's venom and its antivenin?""Why do you wish to know?" he asked slowly."You're asking a know-it-all why she's asking questions…sir?" She shot back, barely, barely able to maintain a veneer of only reply was "Indeed."Stirred up beyond her limit, Hermione jumped up and began to pace. "I need to be prepared; I need to know how to respond in a situation. What with Ron…Slughorn froze! If Harry hadn't—" She'd almost sold out Harry! "If he hadn't been there with the bezoar…" Her voice cracked. "So no I didn't ask Slughorn, because he obviously isn't able to react in a crisis. Mr. Weasley was almost killed by that beast, what if it happened again? Of course it will happen again, we're going after a madman with a seven-meter assassin.""Miss Granger, that is what Healers are for." His voice cracked like a whip, attempting to cut through her just flapped her hands over her head. "Yes but what if there's no time, or no way to get to them? Sometimes there's only enough time for you to react. Have you ever heard of First Aid? I took my certification last summer. If you were to start choking right here, would you want to wait for Madam Pomfrey to arrive?" She looked slightly manic now."Sit down girl." She sat quickly. Six years in the classroom trained her to obey that tone. "Now. Is it your intention to become a Healer?"She vaguely waved her hand in front of her face. "I don't know, Healing is so reactionary, I don't know if I could handle that as a career. It does seem like an important life skill to have."He snorted again, and she was again shocked into stillness. "Only you, Miss Granger, would seek to add Healing to the list of your accomplishments. 'Paint tables, embroider cushions, play the pianoforte, pick up a Masters'-level study as a hobby...'""You know me, I just while away my days netting purses for the house-elves." I've got to be dreaming. I must have tripped pacing and knocked myself time he snorted and smiled. Then he launched into a lecture about the properties of Nagini's venom…and how to treat it.


	4. Bitter Copper and Dust

Hermione was so tired she wasn't entirely certain that her arms were still connected. They felt rather floaty, and in the darkness of the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, she had the odd sense that her left hand was cradling the back of her head. This was all nonsense, of course; she knew she was feeling the Cloak, not her hand, through a skewed sense of perception brought on by adrenaline, trauma, lack of sleep, and dizzying hunger. At least she was still thinking clearly, despite her fear, and for that she felt unspeakably proud. Oh yes, she was terrified, but she kept pushing through it anyway.

'It' being the fact that they were crawling through a dirty, cobweb-filled tunnel to try to kill Voldemort and his snake, somehow. She wasn't sure how, yet, but somehow.

But then Harry stopped, and they snuck behind boxes. Voldemort and Snape were right there. Damn damn damn she didn't dare risk casting Silencio now, in case he felt it. She was afraid to even breathe. Her ears were still numb and ringing, so she couldn't catch what they were saying. Could she get close enough under the cloak to kill the snake? ...No, there, around the boxes she could see the glittering ward. So he knew what they were up to. Damn, now they didn't even have the element of surprise. Would he still be overconfident though? Probably. Justifiably, to some degree. She was busily trying to identify which ward spell Nameless had cast on the snake when she saw it coil and strike. Professor Snape was thrown back against their cover, and she wasn't able to fully choke back a gasp. But he was screaming, horrible, full throated, gut-wrenching screams, and she had no idea what was going on. Clutching her mouth with one hand and her wand in the other, she met Ron's wide eyes in the darkness. You-Know-Who said something, but she couldn't hear over the screams. Then Harry surged forward, and they followed.

At first, Hermione didn't understand what she was seeing. It didn't seem real...it couldn't be real. The professor was sprawled on his back, dark blood pooling beneath him, dark blood spattering the crumbling plaster behind him. The metallic stench was a physical thing. She had to swallow hard to fight the rising gorge. That horrible gurgling sound...no... Her mind flinched away.

"Hermione!" Harry was shouting at her from a long way away. The Invisibility Cloak was gone, and her hair sparked with static. Some stray hairs were clinging across her face. Then she blinked, and her brain fired up again. She Summoned a flask from her purse, and while Harry knelt at Snape's side, she Summoned her first aid kit. Kneeling on Snape's other side, ignoring the blood soaking through the knees of her jeans, she fumblingly unzipped her kit and dumped the whole contents onto his now-still chest. A moment's indecision, Blood Replenisher or antivenin? Wand on the floor, Hermione tugged the professor's torn high collar away, and blood shot out a full ten centimeters from his torn throat. Divorcing herself from what she was about to do, she reached in to find the edges of his artery. It felt like a floppy rubber hose, and it was so slippery she could hardly keep her grip. But oh! There was still a weak pulse in her hand. Hoping against hope that she wasn't cutting off all his circulation, she reached blindly with her left hand for the antivenin. Her blood-slick fingers could barely pop the flask, but she was able to pour the whole stock into his slack mouth.

Good gracious she wished his eyes would close.

She tossed the empty flask aside and reached for the much larger bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion. Not even bothering with a measured dose, she just estimated. Clicking the bottle shut again, she set it on the floor and gently ran a few fingers along the intact side of his throat. How Nagini only got one side of his neck, she's never know.

By then she realized that Ron was shouting at her, had been shouting at her while she had been focusing on immediate response. The What are you DOING!s and He's a traitor! made something inside her snap, and she snarled, "You-Know-Who wants him dead, that's enough reason for me to want him to live!" She was appalled. You didn't just let someone die in front of you, out of cold blood, when you could do something about it. Even if that person was a murderer, that wasn't justice. And it wasn't something you debated, something you articulated and thought about-it was general human compassion. The pulse beneath her fingers seemed stronger.

Just then, she felt like Ron was a stranger to her.

The sleeve of her sweater was soaked up to her elbow.

"Harry, you need to see those memories, and you need to contact St. Mungo's, I can't fix this on my own," her voice cracked. "When Mr. Weasley was attacked, didn't Dumbledore have a portrait-? Phineas! Harry, get Phineas! One of the head portraits can also go to St. Mungo's!"

Harry pulled the gilt portrait frame out of the purse, but it was empty. "Phineas! Phineas! HEADMASTER! Phineas Black!" They both shouted, but he still didn't come.

Hermione tossed her hair back, trying to keep down her panic. "Both of you, go. You can find a portrait in the castle, but Harry, that memory is more important."

"I'm staying with you!" Ron protested.

Hermione shook her head. "We're not done yet. Go, please go."

We still need to get the snake, she wouldn't say out loud.

The boys shared a look, Ron's shoulders slumped, and they left.

As silence swelled in their wake, Hermione administered another dose of Blood Replenishing Potion. Her right hand was starting to cramp, but she didn't dare try to shift her grip. Her once-cream sweater was now mostly red. There was just so much blood, she didn't know how he was still alive. Suddenly, he gave a great rattling gasp, and some of her first aid potions rolled to the floor. He was breathing on his own, and tears of relief burned her eyes.

She started calling to Phineas again, subconsciously taking up a rhythm as the minutes passed. Snape's heart was still beating, he was still breathing, but he was also still bleeding. She kept giving him Blood Replenishing Potion, but soon she was going to run out. She tried pouring Dittany on his neck, but that didn't seem to have any effect. And by then, his breathing was getting faster and shallower.

She didn't know what else to do. She was going to fail, and he was going to die.

Once more, she tipped blood replenisher down his throat, but the bottle sloshed nearly empty. She could not take her hand away from his neck, so she picked up her wand with her left hand. Ignoring the awkwardness, she poured all her desperation into her Patronus. She couldn't draw up any happy thought just then, instead she focused on all the inarticulated feelings about why she was trying so hard to save this man. That generosity superseded all her confused feelings, all her hurt and doubt and still-flickering faith in him. How she felt about him didn't matter, he was owed the same dignity she owed to everyone.

When light flared from the tip of her wand, she had to shut her eyes against the glare. She cried, "Help! Please help! Adult male trauma victim in the Shrieking Shack, outside of Hogsmede, with a snake bite to the neck! Please help!" And with an almighty shove, she willed her Patronus to St. Mungo's. Proper spells be damned. She'd never sent a patronus message before, though, so she had no way of knowing if this would work. She kept calling for Phineas just in case.

Blinking the aura out of her eyes as they readjusted to the darkness, she thought Snape's breathing sounded slightly stronger again. She wondered if the presence of a Patronus could have a positive effect against all ailm-

CRACK!-CK!-CK!

Hermione shrieked and ducked, her startled squeeze making Snape flinch. Oh! he moved! Oh! Who was there! She heard movement in the hallway. Wand ready in her left hand, she yelled, "In here!" Whether they were medi-wizards or Death Eaters, she had no way of knowing.

She had to shut her eyes against the glare of four lit wands, but then the mediwizards moved in. The lead mediwizard did a double take when he recognized the wizard on the floor, then they swooped in. "What happened?"

"He was bit by You-Know-Who's snake, I gave him antivenin and Blood Replenishing Potion, but I'm out and he's still bleeding," she rattled off.

A medi-witch cast a diagnostic spell while the other mediwizard transfigured a floorboard into a stretcher. The lead asked, somewhat confusedly, "You had antivenin?" as knelt next to her, curiously inspecting how she held his artery shut, and nodded his approval.

The mediwitch responded, "It's working," just as Hermione said, "You really don't want to know." When she registered what the mediwitch had said, she slumped with relief.

The mediwizard at her side asked, "How long ago was he bit?"

Hermione tried to shake her hair out of her face, saying, "Fifteen minutes?" as the other mediwizard took out a syringe and injected the full measure into Snape's thigh.

The mediwizard next to her said, "That's a better version of the standard Blood Replenishing Potion, plus a coagulant." Then he began an chant-like incantation and the mediwitch explained, "Now we're lowering his body temperature, to stabilize him enough for apparition."

Hermione could feel the pulse beneath her fingers slowing down, the blood growing cold. The mediwizard lowered his wand and said to her, "On the count of three, we're going to St. Mungo's. Let go on 'two.' I've a feeling you've got other business to attend to, Miss Granger." Resolutely, she nodded, and snatched her beaded purse off of Snape's chest.

"One..." The mediwizards and mediwitch clutched their patient.

"Two..." Hermione let go, and blood poured out. She thought she saw Snape's eyelids flutter.

"Three!" CRACK!

The silence was deafening.

She sat stunned in the pool of blood for a moment, but then she gave herself a little shake and began to clean up. There was still so much more to do.


	5. Key of F Major, With Bagpipes

_Disclaimer: If you've made it this far into the story thinking this is some long-lost draft of JKR's, well, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you. This work of fanfiction is just fanfiction._

The sharp, sour smell of cordite irritated her nose and gave her a sore throat, but she still helped search through the piles of rubble. She frenetically hoped to find one more person alive; if she could save just one more, she could staunch the leeching guilt that she was fine. Fred, Tonks, Lupin, the litany of pale faces passed, while she, ashamed, could only claim already-scabbed cuts, minor bruises, and a tingling, twanging wand arm. _Homenum Revelio_ indicated one person down there, and she was working with Terry Boot and a Hufflepuff friend of Ernie MacMillan's, whose-name-she-couldn't-place-and-that-mental-blank-galled, to dig down without causing further collapse. She found a hand, dirty, but protected from the pile by chance, and the rescuers began calling out. Then they shifted more stone, and were only able to identify the body as a student by the Ravenclaw badge still pinned to her uniform. Her head had been completely crushed. Hermione turned, retching, only to be pulled away by Madam Pomfrey. The matron wrapped one sweaty, shaking arm around the girl's sweaty, shaking shoulders and took hold of her wrist, gently, firmly guiding the resisting girl to the makeshift Infirmary in the Great Hall. St. Mungo's staff and Ministry disaster relief squads surged in their wake.

"You have done all you can do now. You'll help no one if you collapse too," Madam Pomfrey kept up a steady stream of talk in a steady, no-nonsense tone as she set a steady pace through the detritus of stones.

Once seated on a transfigured cot, Hermione consented to being attended by a spry old Healer from St. Mungo's, whose still-somewhat-clean lime green robes indicated how recently he had arrived.

"You've overextended your wand arm," he said, explaining the tingling, tender pain, "both magically and physically. You'll have to consent to a sling for your elbow, since any more magic would do more harm at this point."

At that, Hermione started. "Wait, so I can't use my wand arm?"

The Healer raised his wispy gray eyebrows as if this was self-evident. "Not for a few days at least; your body needs to calm down. Don't you feel like a struck tuning fork?"

"...Yes, I suppose that's exactly how you could describe it."

"Yes. You've overextended yourself."

"...Wait, so no magic at all?" Hermione gasped, aghast, as the full implications revealed themselves.

"Not by you, not to you, and I would advise you attempt to prevent it around you."

"But!" Hermione indicated the surrounding room. Not only were there spells being cast all around her, Hogwarts itself was a magical entity in its own right.

The Healer's wizened face scrunched into a study of wrinkles, "Hmm, perhaps you're right. I suggest you leave the grounds for a few days until your system regains its equilibrium."

Dazed, Hermione asked, "And how am I to leave without using magic, call a cab?"

The Healer chuckled at her as if her distress was amusing. "Oh no miss, the Knight Bus has re-purposed itself as a shuttle for the time being."

Hugging her knees to her chest and letting her head fall forward, she groaned, "Arrangements will need to be made."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Weasleys wanted Hermione to stay at the Burrow, but with Professors Snape and McGonagall in St. Mungo's, she was adamant about staying in London. Acting Minister Kingsley sent a team of Aurors to sweep Grimauld Place, but the former headquarters had been ransacked, cursed, hexed, booby-trapped, and jinxed within an inch of the wizarding house's existence. Ironically, Mrs. Black's portrait had finally been silenced by the Death Eaters. Evidently she'd taken umbrage against the invaders, regardless their ideological bent, and they must have taken umbrage with her umbrage, and the end result was just curling, crisply burnt edges of canvas held in place by the scorched gilt frame. Regardless, no one could be spared to make safe the safe-house in time.

As it was, a slightly green Hermione stepped out of the Knight Bus one green summer morning, to face the shabby, slightly crumbling tenement building that served for St. Mungo's long-term lodging. She clutched her beaded purse in her free left hand and tried to keep her wobbling legs under her, jumping horribly when the Knight Bus disappeared with a BANG! Shaking her head at her strained nerves, she opened the first set of doors, but pulled unsuccessfully at the inner door. Through the glass, Hermione saw a bored receptionist look up from a rather battered copy of Witch Weekly, roll her eyes, and gesture sharply to the right. Oh. A magical facsimile of an intercom was set into the wall at eye height.

Blushing at being caught missing something so obvious, Hermione pressed the call button.

"Roland McDorlund House, how can I help you?" The receptionist sounded perfectly obliging now.

"Yes I'm here to check in." Hermione said into the speaker, looking at the receptionist, who shook her head and made another jabbing motion. Oh. Hermione held down the call button and repeated herself.

"Name?"

She hesitated, but held down the button and spoke into the speaker, "Hermione Granger."

The receptionist dropped her magazine and fumbled around her desk. Hermione heard a muffled shunk as the door unlocked, so she tried the door again and entered the lobby. It was a rather shabby, poorly lit little room, with a number of ratty couches and chairs clustered around two fire places. The receptionist, a young witch not much older than Hermione (who looked vaguely familiar, even if she couldn't put a name to the face) now gazed at her rapturously. Hermione could now see the cover of her magazine: a grainy replay of Harry and Voldemort, connected by jets of red and green, the Elder Wand flying through the air, Voldemort falling, and the crowd surging around an absolutely gobsmacked Harry, underscored by the screaming headline _**VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED: THE BOY-WHO-LIVED LIVES AGAIN.**_ The top side column showed the back of a black-cloaked, black haired man, who proved to be a young Professor Snape when he glanced over one shoulder haughtily, clearly quite irritated that readers were still looking at him, over a flowing script, _Severus Snape, Forever Faithful_. Hermione caught a glimpse of herself and Ron in each other's arms, but she was preoccupied by a burgeoning horror, wondering how Professor Snape was going to react when he found out that the whole wizarding world knew how he felt about Lily. It all seemed intensely private to Hermione. Of all the damned impulsiveness, Harry... her mental cataloging was interrupted by the receptionist, hesitatingly asking, "Miss Granger?"

She shook her head slightly and gave a weary grin. "Sorry, rough week."

The receptionist laughed breathlessly, and handed her a key. "You're in 204, second floor, second door on the left. If you need anything, please let me know."

Hermione made to go, but she turned back and asked, "Do you have the latest Daily Prophet? I haven't had the chance to look at a paper yet."

The receptionist hastily handed over her misfolded, out-of-order copy, and Hermione headed up to her new, temporary quarters. The tiny, sterile room was large enough for a single bed, a small dresser, a tiny table, a small kitchen sink, three cupboards, a burner, a mini-fridge, and a small square of countertop. The rooms were meant to accommodate the family members of St. Mungo's patients, however short- or long-term they be. After sitting a moment on the garishly-patterned duvet, Hermione began to unpack her bag.

Blinking, she rummaged around one-handed for a moment, and pulled out Phineas Nigelus' portrait and set him upright on the dresser. Currently, it was empty, so she called, "Headmaster Black?"

He groped blindly into the frame, griping, "Have you returned me to my proper house, young lady?"

She made to grab her wand to remove his blindfold, only to feel sick remembering she was ordered off magic. _Ordered to remain defenseless, her brain added_, and she bickered back, _as if you wouldn't draw wand if you really were in danger, don't play goody-I'm -going-to-obey-doctor's-orders-two shoes with me._

"You called, Miss Granger?" His sneer dripped with officious irony.

"I-I'm sorry Headmaster, I was going to remove your blindfold, but I can't just yet-"

"What do you mean 'just yet?' You have nothing to fear from me OR from Headmaster Snape, now I DEMAND-"

"I've overextended," Hermione cut in calmly, "and the Healers ordered me to refrain from using magic, so if you would please calm down, I was trying to appraise you of certain current events." She paused. "That is, if you wish to hear, of course. I would hate to bore you."

Phineas pursed his lips, facing the direction of her voice. After a moment, he huffed, "Well, girl? Out with it!"

Hermione sighed internally. "Grimmauld Place is not safe to enter at the moment; apparently the Death Eaters broke through the wards and laid traps in case we ever returned. At the moment, no one could be spared to make the place habitable, so I am currently in the St. Mungo's McDorlund House."

He sighed gustily and drawled, "Yes, I suppose it was too much to be hoped for that you were wandering in the wilderness all winter without reason. If you and your merry band of heroes hadn't defused most of the Black protections in the first place, the Death Eaters would have never gotten in." Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he continued, "The first thing a dark wizard does is protect himself from other dark wizards, I should have thought that obvious."

"Slytherins," she grumbled, shaking her head. Phineas only looked more self-satisfied. Hermione hesitated, then asked archly, "Have you heard any news of Professor Snape?" She toyed with the beading on her purse and didn't see the portrait's leer.

"We have been informed that he made it through the first night, and that the Healers put him in an induced coma...but Dilys tells me they expect he will live."

Hermione, who had held her breath while he spoke, let out a half sob and started shaking.

"Now see here!" Phineas called, "Such displays of emotion are decidedly uncalled for in someone of your bir-situation."

"Oh bite your tongue, you bitter old man, I held his artery shut for a quarter of an hour, trickling potions down his tattered throat and keeping him breathing until the Healers arrived, all the while looking over my shoulder waiting for Voldemort to come back, so don't you try to pretend I'm not invested in this!"

Black sat stunned. "...You kept him alive?"

"Oh don't you carp on about saving a man I thought was a traitor; Voldemort wanted him dead, wasn't that enough reason to try to keep him alive?"

The portrait waved a hand. "You said you held his wound closed?"

She paled. "Yes". _There was blood everywhere._

Black raised his voice, "You haven't overextended, child, you've been poisoned. Get to St. Mungo's now!"

Hermione threw his portrait into her purse and apparated.

The lobby of St. Mungo's was a madhouse. People were wailing, calling for their loved ones, yelling in pain, rushing to and fro, or trying to direct traffic. The tingling numbness in Hermione's arm now seemed sinister and insidious. Then, while she was waiting in line, someone recognized her, and she was swarmed by a mob of people.

"It's her!"

"It's Hermione Granger!"

"It really _is_!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Who are you coming to visit?"

"Did you _really_ ride a dragon?"

Hermione spotted someone in lime green trying to push through the crowd and thanked who ever it was who thought to dress the Healers in such garish colors. The crush was making her anxious, she could feel sweat start to break out on her face and she knew she was breathing too fast. Then someone jostled her sling and a wave of agony almost floored her.

"BACK! ALL OF YOU! BACK! For shame! This is a hospital, not a night club!" An amazon in lime green powered through the crowd when she saw the girl in distress. Her sharp voice pitched above the melee, and she wrapped a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders as they made for a door.

The noise from the lobby quickly faded, the ensuing quiet swelled like balm. "If it's any consolation to you, you can be sure that the Welcome Witch out there will only be invited to volunteer with bed pans after this." The tall, fair Healer led Hermione into a tiny waiting room. "Now, I'm Healer Fitger, Miss Granger, and I'm very sorry to meet you under such circumstances."

"Believe me, Healer Fitger, I am very glad to meet you." Hermione looked down at her sling. "At Hogwarts, I was diagnosed with overextension, but the Healer didn't know that I came into contact with Nagini's venom that night, and I've since been informed that I may have imbibed some of the toxicity through my skin."

Healer Fitger's sharp blue eyes sharpened further, and she carefully released the sling, maneuvering Hermione so her arm rested extended on a table. Hermione's fingers were so pale they looked grey. "Came into contact? How?" She held her wand over Hermione's hand, carefully not touching.

Hermione licked her lips, "I was the first responder to Professor Snape. His throat," she swallowed, "his throat had been ripped open, so I pinched his carotid artery shut and held it until the mediwizards showed up."

Healer Fitger's eyes flashed to hers. "Did you use gloves?"

"There wasn't time."

"No, indeed not." Healer Fitger muttered as she conjured a turquoise paper bracelet, sheathed her wand up her sleeve, and asked, "Do you feel you can walk unaided, Miss Granger? We're admitting you to the Dai Llewellyn Ward, even though you haven't been bitten, because in this case it might be prudent to have Professor Snape's Healers attend you, too."

"I can walk. I'm mostly fine. Other than being jostled in the crowd, of course, but I've a feeling that was mostly psychological."

"Alright. Up we get then." They rose, Hermione only coming up to Healer Fitger's chin, and they walked through more hallways. Outside the ward, Healer Fitger said, "When you're better, I would really like to hear about your actions that day, and most importantly, how you came to learn to do what you did. You saved his life, lass. Well done. Welcome to our fellowship."

"Fellowship?" Hermione asked as another Healer opened the door.

"That band of stubborn lunatics who've wrestled life out of the jaws of death. Better watch out, you might find it addicting." Healer Fitger flashed a beautiful smile and turned away.

Healer Smethwyck, standing behind Hermione in the doorway, cleared his throat impatiently. "This way, if you please, miss." He led her into a nearly-full ward, shaking his head at her when she stared horrified at the number of patients wrapped in bandages. "I've never seen so many cases of acromantula bites. Most victims don't live long enough to make it here you know." Then she saw Professor Snape and stopped dead in her tracks.

"_Severus Snape wasn't yours!" _

He was lying flat on his back, eyes closed, pale as the bedspread. His hair splayed like an oil slick across the white pillowcase, and his throat was wrapped in yards of white gauze. Hermione's mouth worked noiselessly.

The Healer took a firm grip on her good elbow and guided her to a seat on the bed next to the sleeping professor. "Worry about your own health, Miss Granger, there'll be time enough for questions and explanations later, but if you don't wish to lose your wand arm, we need to act now." He gently examined Hermione's grey, right hand top, palm, and fingers. Then he peered at the turquoise paper bracelet and his eyebrows disappeared behind his curly fringe.

"How long were you in contact with the venom?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes." _The longest fifteen minutes of my life._

"How long was it before you able to clean your hands?" He now was scrutinizing the tips of her thumb, index, and middle fingers.

_Blood. Blood everywhere._ She swallowed thickly. "I cast a cleansing charm almost immediately after the mediwizards left."

"Did you get the chance to use soap and water after that?"

"Not until the next morning."

"Hm." The Healer gently released her hand, nodding. Then, lighting the tip of his wand, he looked into her eyes, moving the light to check the iris reactions. "Do you feel any dizziness or faintness?" Hermione averred she did not. "Nausea?" She shook her head.

"Only an odd twanging, jangling sensation in my hand that fades up to tingling in my forearm."

Healer Smethwyck nodded. "Well, this should be fairly straight forward: I'm going to administer the antivenin, but I'm also admitting you overnight for observation. Are there people you wish to inform?"

She licked her dry lips and nodded.


	6. Antiseptic

If it weren't for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Hermione couldn't have known if Professor Snape was still breathing. Ron snored, Harry whistled a little and occasionally whuffled, but the professor made no noise at all. He made no restless movements either. Hermione, on her part, couldn't help but fidget. Blast these wizards, she was not comfortable in a darkened room nearly filled with people on the brink of death. Had St. Mungo's never heard of private patient rooms? She had drawn the curtain to block out the stares of some of the more alert patients, but the cloth obscuring her from view also cut off her view of the door. That made her edgy.

She heard the door open, the rustle of cloth, a number of footfalls. People were coming, but Hermione couldn't see who. Healers be damned, she palmed her wand.

Then she heard Ron, asking a little too loudly, "They have him in a public ward? I'm surprised no one's tried to arrest him yet!"

"What makes you think they haven't?" Smethwyck replied testily. "As I told the Aurors, he was too unstable to be moved yesterday."

"And what will the official reply be if someone does come knocking once more?" Harry asked the Healer quietly, and they rounded the curtain.

Ron moved swiftly to her side, enveloping her in a hug and planting a quick kiss on her lips. Harry hung back, but Hermione opened her arms to him too.

Smethwyck replied pompously, "That his condition is too fragile for him to be moved under any circumstances. Officially." Then he sniffed. "I understand the need to understand the truth, but I will not tolerate a witch hunt to satisfy some personal vendetta."

Hermione breathed a huge internal sigh of relief and beamed (the expression felt odd, unfamiliar) "Thank you, Healer Smethwyck. I'm sure you understand our lack of faith in the Ministry's impartiality at the moment. This means the world to us." Ron and Harry quickly agreed.

"Yes, yes, we're all in agreement then. Now to business. Excuse me, sirs." Smethwyck lit the tip of his wand once more, and approached Hermione's bedside. Harry and Ron backed off, trying to watch unobtrusively. The Healer swung the light in and out of her eyes several times, then had her look over one ear and the other as he looked into her irises with a belighted magnifier. Next, he asked her to perform various hand exercises-touching each finger to her thumb, rotating her writsts, making fists, extending her fingers, touching her nose, ears, and toes with her eyes closed. Then he asked her to pick up her wand, conjure water into a cup, summon a tissue from the box on her nightstand, and transfigure it into a cotton ball.

"Thank you Miss Granger, that will be all for now." Smethwyck slid his wand back up his sleeve and made to go.

"Er, can I ask why you were checking my eyes?"

He hesitated.

"Sir, I do understand some of the properties of that venom. When I approached Professor Snape about procuring an antivenin last year, he-"

"You did what!"

"WHAT?" Both boys yelped over each other.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How do you think you survived that attack on Christmas Eve, Harry? You saw the state Mr. Weasley was in after he was bitten, and how long it took for him to heal."

Harry's mouth worked a few times, then he sheepishly said, "Oh."

Smethwyck observed the exchange coolly, then nodded to Hermione. "I'm impressed by your foresight, Miss Granger. And yet somehow, I'm unsurprised that your preparedness saved more than Professor Snape's life." Then he sighed. "As you are no doubt aware, Voldemort's snake's venom was a powerful neurotoxin. Your dermal exposure resulted in some damage to your optic nerves in addition to those in your wand arm."

She blinked. "Is it permanent?"

"It's too soon to tell, or even if any damage would be resistant to regenerative therapy." He patted her left hand gently. "It may only mean you'll need to be fitted for glasses. It's unproductive to conjecture at this point, so please try not to worry about it." Then he nodded and left, leaving the curtain swinging a little when his lime green robes brushed it.

For a moment, the only sounds were the shuffles and moans of the other injured. Hermione shivered and scooted over in bed, saying, "Come here, both of you." She opened her arms and Ron swooped in. Harry held back, but Hermione fixed him with a look he didn't argue with. Surrounded by their warmth and the sound of their breathing, she finally relaxed. The jangling twanging in her arm was starting to feel different, and she began to hope that her hand was coming back to life. Ron twitched heavily, once, twice, then his breath hitched, and suddenly he was sobbing, shaking as he tried to suppress the sound. Hermione tightened her grip around his shoulders and tucked his head firmly below her cheek. Harry's arm tightened around her waist and he leant his head against Ron's shoulder. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks. Hermione blinked sore eyes, but no tears came. She still hadn't cried, and because of that, she felt horrible.

Harry said thickly, "Tomorrow is the last official day of mourning. Then they start the funerals." Ron started shaking harder and began hiccoughing.

Hermione mouthed, "Muffliato?" at Harry, who blinked confused for a moment before it dawned on him that she was still ordered to not use magic. He cast the spell quickly, but then his face pinched and he dropped his forehead back to Ron's shoulder. Hermione began rubbing her hand up and down Ron's back, soothing, gently saying, "Don't try to stop, don't try to hold back. Let it out. Feel. Don't hold back."

Eventually, Ron quieted. He sat up, disengaged his arm from Harry, and tried wiping his face. Then he rubbed his temple, and tightened his arm around Hermione's waist.

"I should be discharged in the morning, so I'll be back with you tomorrow." Hermione said firmly. Ron heaved a shuddering sigh and nodded.

Tears still streamed down Harry's face, so Hermione plucked a tissue from her nightstand and gently reached under his glasses to dry his eyes. He took the tissue from her hand, but grabbed her wrist as she pulled away. Moving his grip to her fingers, he glanced over to Snape and said, "Hermione, thank you for...for saving him." She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he kept speaking. "When I...came out of his Pensieve memories and thought he was-could be-dead, I just...it just," he paused, searching for words, "it hurts to realize how wrong I was...and to look back and see how bad I acted, how I treated him...how everyone treated him. If I hadn't had the chance to make it up to him, I don't know how I could've lived with myself."

Ron cringed. "You and me both, mate."

"Harry, have you shown those Pensieve memories to anyone else?" she asked. When Harry had told them about Snape's loyalty over sandwiches, Ron had been skeptical and demanded to see them for himself. Hermione had refused. Ron had come up pale and shaking.

He hunched over. "I showed Kingsley, and I mean to show Professor McGonagall when she gets out of here, but as of yet...they're so private."

Hermione privately agreed, but she asked, "Have you been to see Professor McGonagall? They won't let me out of this ward."

"Ya, we stopped in to see her just before we came to..see...you." Ron stuttered to a guilty stop. Hermione just waved her hand to continue and he babbled to explain, "Well, we knew we were going to see you longer so we-"

"Ron, stop, it's all right. I'm hardly offended that you didn't immediately rush to my side."

"But-"

"No buts. How is she?"

Harry and Ron shared a glance, and Harry answered, "She's...getting there. She's still weak, but she said she was going to start physical therapy within the next few days. It'll depend on when the Healers say her heart is strong enough. I...I really didn't want to tell her everything yet, but she was...desperate for the whole story. Kingsley told her yesterday that Snape was on our side, but a Healer kicked him out before he could say any more."

Hermione sputtered, "And the Healer thought that she would be less distressed on her own? Of all the idiocy."

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. "She took it...hard. Apparently they had been sort-of-friends, but she spent last year trying to make his life hell-even more of a hell."

Hermione looked over to the still form of Severus Snape and absently said, "Being wrong hurts so much, but in this case, I'm glad."

Ron and Harry both tried to tell her she was wrong, their words garbled together, and Hermione just shook her head. "Trying to get you both to respect a teacher doesn't count. I was wrong about him first year, I was wrong about him last year. I feel all the worse for having trusted him in between and, and breaking faith in him again." Her eyes burned and her breath hitched, but she still couldn't cry.

"At least you did something," Ron said awkwardly.

"I just hope it was enough," she whispered.

"Madam Undersecretary, I cannot allow you in there!" Healer Smethwyck's agitated voice came from the hallway.

"Oh no!" All three voices groaned. Harry recanted the Muffliato, then reluctantly sheathed his wand. He stood facing the curtain.

A tinkling giggle sent shivers down Hermione's spine. "I'm sorry, Healer Smethwyck," she said with a gleeful simper, "But I'm here on Ministry business."

"And just what do you think you're doing here?" Hermione snarled as Umbridge rounded her privacy curtain. The stumpy witch rocked back on her heels for a moment, nearly bumping into the two beefy lackeys behind her. Healer Smethwyck followed, livid. Umbridge regained her composure and coldly replied, "As I said, I am here on Ministry business." She moved to approach Snape's bed, but Harry blocked her approach.

"Funny, when I spoke with Kingsley this afternoon, it was his directive that Professor Snape remain in Healer Smethwyck's care. I've since been informed that someone has already tried to arrest the professor. What is your Ministry business, Dolores? And why does it involve two members of the MLE?" Harry inquired just as coldly.

Umbridge flourished a piece of parchment dripping with seals, ribbons, and gold ink. "I have a warrant for the arrest of one Severus Snape, for crimes committed as a Death Eater."

Harry snatched the warrant from her pudgey fingers and handed it to Hermione.

She read it carefully, and coolly stated, "It says here that you issued this warrant, Madam Undersecretary. Now, are you quite certain you want to open an investigation into the abuse of Hogwarts students by a person in a position authority? Because I would do everything in my power to ensure that any and all allegations would be thoroughly looked into, as is only proper. You never know who else might be implicated." Hermione insisted with wide eyed sincerity.

A small muscle beneath Umbridge's right eye twitched.

"We can't have a Hogwarts Headmaster using corporal punishment or casting Unforgiveables on students." Harry added earnestly.

"No, indeed not. Such a thing would be unthinkable. Imagine the public outcry!"

Umbridge had turned a shade of pink rather reminiscent of Vernon Dursely, before she forced on a facsimile of a smile, adding, "I'm so glad we understand each other." Then she scuttled from the room, bumping Healer Smethwyck's elbow in her haste, sweeping the two bulky MLE officers along in her wake.

Hermione glowered at the swinging curtain, then sighed and turned to Harry. "I know you feel it should remain a private affair, but if we are going to avoid a trial-by-mob, you're going to have to go on a public opinion offensive. I have a feeling she's going to try to make a show out of punishing him, so the only way to avoid that is to ensure the public supports him."

Harry scrubbed both hands over his face. "Fine. You just need to make sure he doesn't kill me when all's said and done. I'd hate to work this hard to keep him out of Azkaban only to see him earn a life sentence for murder."

Hermione snorted, but rubbed her forehead worriedly. "Healer Smethwyck, is it possible to have Professor Snape moved to a private room?"

"A private room?" the Healer sounded confused. "The only private rooms are the high level security rooms, they're for criminals!"

"Damn. The last thing we want is for people to think St. Mungo's is treating him like a prisoner. He needs higher security though."

"I'll see to it myself." Smethwyck replied.


End file.
